


neon lights and shining knights

by thundersnowstorm



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, College, F/F, Fluff, One-Shot, POV Arya Stark, Snakes, nymeria is a dog but only technically, the dragons are snakes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-27 10:36:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17160437
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thundersnowstorm/pseuds/thundersnowstorm
Summary: White Harbor seems like the best place for Arya to figure herself out before college. It just so happens Dany Targaryen is getting her political science degree here. And nobody seems capable of communicating properly.





	neon lights and shining knights

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aryaofoldstones](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aryaofoldstones/gifts).



> Merry Christmas everyone! This is my contribution to the asoiafrarepairs Secret Santa for bethgreenesgf. I hope you like it!

Arya Stark is eighteen years old when she decides it is time to move out.

“You don’t have to go to White Harbor, you know,” says Catelyn, worry creasing delicate lines into her brow. “There are plenty of jobs you could try in Winterfell. You could stay at home, save up some money while you figure everything out.”

“I know,” Arya says, and this is not the first time they have had this discussion. “I just need somewhere new. And I’m hardly moving to Sunspear, I’ll be just a day’s drive away.”

At least they aren’t fighting about college anymore. Telling her mother that she won’t be going until she knows what she wants to study had probably been one of their worst fights in a long time. Still, Catelyn has always worried, and Arya expects to receive hourly texts demanding updates for at least a month. Robb, who is responsible and went to college as expected, says he still gets daily texts, and he lives less than an hour away.

“Tell Jon that if he doesn’t come home for the solstice dinner, there will be hell to pay,” says her father, bringing her in for a tight hug. “And try not to get into too much trouble, kiddo.”

“You should be telling Rickon that, not me,” she says, and when Rickon goes to defend his name, she wrestles him into a headlock. “You might be taller than me now, squirt, but I’m still better.”

“Arya, let go of your brother,” sighs Catelyn in a long-suffering tone

She releases Rickon with a grin. “Sorry.”

Bran gets a proper hug, because he isn’t a brat. Catelyn starts sniffling during her hug, and Arya almost feels guilty enough to call off the whole thing, but she has never gone back on a decision like this before, and she isn’t about to start now. She needs a fresh start, needs to learn how to be an adult, and she can’t do that in the comfort of her childhood home. Besides, Rickon recently became a teenager, and her parents’ hands are going to be plenty full.

Arya picks up Nymeria’s leash and takes the handles of her suitcases. The train’s doors are closing soon.

“I’ll call when I get there,” she says. “And I promise I’ll text as much as I can, and I’ll eat my vegetables, and I won’t get into strange men’s vans. It’s just White Harbor, I’ll be fine.”

Ned ruffles her hair, like he used to do when she was little. Tears prick at her eyes and Arya has to blink a few times. “Go get ‘em, kiddo,” he says.

…

Jon meets her at the station, and when she sees him, Arya hits him for never visiting home.

“Getting vacation days is hard!” he protests.

She huffs. “A lousy excuse and you know it.”

Jon Snow is not technically her brother, but if Arya had to pick a favorite sibling, she’d pick him. Lyanna, his mother and her aunt, worked long hours when they were younger, and he spent more time at the Stark-Tully house than at his own. He is quiet, prone to brooding, overly competitive at video games, and Arya’s favorite person in the world.

His apartment on the other hand, is shoebox-sized and smells vaguely of wet dog mixed with Dornish takeout. There is a mysterious dripping sound coming from somewhere, and the lock doesn’t quite work right. Still, Arya gets her own room, small as it may be, and Jon’s roommate, a large, round-faced man by the name of Sam, is a friendly sort.

Nymeria of course, makes a beeline for Ghost and before long, their friendly tussling has knocked over two books and a lamp.

“Hey, nuh-uh, over here girl,” says Arya. “I know you’re excited to see your brother too, but you gotta behave yourself, there isn’t gonna be as much room as you’re used to.”

Nymeria, a grey husky that Bran swears has to be descended from a direwolf, lopes over to Arya with a huff. She plops onto the couch beside her, snout settled firmly on Arya’s lap.

“So what’s the plan?” asks Jon, passing Arya a cold root beer. “Welcome to White Harbor and all, but unless you plan on your parents paying for rent, you’re gonna have to find work.”

“Remember Gendry?” He nods. “He said his boss needs an extra set of hands around the garage. Not the best paying of jobs, but it beats making overpriced drinks for snobby assholes.”

“Oh come on, not all the Wall’s customers are snobs,” protests Jon. “Some of them are pretty nice.”

“Who, like Ygritte?” Arya waggles her eyebrows and gets a glare in return.

“Ygritte doesn’t like the Wall,” he admits with reluctance.

“No, she likes kissing Jon more,” chimes in Sam from the kitchen, and Jon groans in embarrassment.

“Ghost is the only one who supports me in this household.”

The dog in question looks up from his bone and quirks his head in confusion.

“Call Ygritte if you want support,” advises Arya. “But let Sam and I know beforehand if we should make ourselves scarce for a bit, there’s some things I really don’t need to hear.”

Jon throws a pillow at her.

…

The auto repair shop is on the outskirts of the city, thirty minutes by bus away from the apartment. Gendry isn’t one for many words, but he gives Arya a tight hug before introducing her to his boss.

Yoren is a grouchy, taciturn man with terrible grooming habits and a taste for sourleaf that has Arya wrinkling her nose. He calls her Arry and doesn’t seem to hear her corrections. But he hires her on the spot, and the garage reminds Arya of the summer her father spent teaching her how to drive and fix a car.

It’s hard work, and more days than not, Arya returns to the apartment with little energy for much more than giving Nymeria her walk and crashing by the TV with dinner. Gendry loves the job, she knows, but she doubts she’ll try for a proper apprenticeship there. It’s fine, but she doesn’t plan on sticking with it forever.

Robb went to college already planning on studying history. Sansa had been less sure, but two years in, she sounds so happy talking about her literature classes. Bran will probably end up in some sort of science and Rickon is too young to know, but Arya isn’t. She looks at her future and too many options stretch out in front.

She mulls it over walking home from work one night, the light from the streetlamps puddling around her. Maybe she could take a class or two at the local community college. Jon says they’re decent, and it might make her mother worry less. Or there’s always the military. Robb seems to have enjoyed his stint in the Northern Guard.

Arya is about to cross the street when she hears something faint. She thinks it’s a cat, until the noise is followed by a sniffle that is definitely human. It’s coming from the nearby stoop, and she can vaguely make out a figure sitting on the steps.

It is late, and Arya should really be home by now, but she finds herself walking in the person’s direction. It’s a girl, she realizes, dressed in a dress that is far too short for this weather with only a leather jacket for warmth. Her face is streaked with tears and mascara, half-covered by pale hair that’s come loose from its tie.

“Are you alright?” asks Arya, alarmed. Someone crying alone in a dark street is never a good sign.

The girl just cries harder. “I’m fine,” she hiccups, wiping her eyes. That just smears the mascara even more.

“Are you sure?” she presses. “You don’t look it. Do you need me to call the cops or something?”

The girl shakes her head. “Not unless they can arrest stupid Daario for sleeping with that stupid sorority girl.” She sniffs.

Oh. This, Arya is not prepared for. “I’m sorry,” she says, projecting as much empathy as possible. “You look cold, you should go back inside. It’s late.”

The girl hugs the jacket around herself. “I don’t live here, this is Daario’s friend’s place.” She sniffs again. There’s some snot.

Arya rummages through her pockets and finds some wrinkled tissues. She passes the girl one. “Is there a taxi on its way or something?”

“Why do you wanna know?” the girl snaps. Somehow, despite the circumstances, she manages a decently intimidating glare.

Arya puts her hands up. “Just tryna be nice. Girls gotta look out for each other, and all that.”

The girl deflates. “’M sorry, didn’t mean to be mean. I’m just kinda really drunk and sad right now. There’s no taxi coming, my phone died and I figured if I cried enough I would sober up enough to think of something.”

“That sounds like a terrible idea,” Arya tells her drily, and gets a hiccupping laugh in return.

“Yeah, you’re probably right.” She blows her nose loudly into the tissue.

“Is there someone who can walk you home?”

“It’s just Daario’s stupid friends at the party,” says the girl, lip starting to tremble again. “And his new girlfriend or fuck buddy or whatever.”

Arya winces. “That’s rough.” She runs a hand through her hair. “Um, where do you live? I’m happy to walk with you. Or not, because stranger danger.”

The girl laughs. “You seem nice. I wish Daario had been nice. God, why do I always have the worst taste in guys? You didn’t need to know that. Um, I live by the docks, near Merman’s Square?”

“I’m not too far from there, actually. C’mon, let’s get you home.”

The girl wobbles to her feet. In heels, she’s about Arya’s height, though she isn’t too steady in them. They start walking, their steps echoing in the quiet streets.

“So what happened with this Daario guy?” asks Arya after too much silence. “Sounds like a real dick.”

“He is,” she says, nodding her head for emphasis. “I mean, he was charming in the beginning, and he had the most ridiculous hair which in retrospect really just looked stupid, but I liked him and he thought I was pretty, so.” She shrugs. “And then his friend throws a party and I don’t even like the type of parties he likes, but he guilt-trips me into coming. Terrible decision on his part, seeing as a few hours into the party I find him fucking some other girl in the bathroom.”

Arya whistles through her teeth. “Did you slap him? Please tell me you slapped him.”

“I wish I had,” she says miserably. “It’d serve him right. No, I was in too much shock to do much of anything. Then he started trying to explain, and I just left. Gods, it’s so embarrassing.” She stumbles and Arya reaches out to steady her.      

“What? No, you have nothing to be embarrassed about. He’s the one who cheated, if anyone should be embarrassed, it’s him.”

“Yeah, but I should’ve known he was bad news.”

Arya shook her head. “Nope, still not your fault. If he has a car, I know a guy who can slash his tires. If you want.” She’s joking. Mostly.

The girl laughs and tucks her hair behind her ears. Beneath the flickering neon lights of a 24-hour deli, her skin appears blue. It’s an oddly pretty effect. “I probably shouldn’t take you up on that offer. Though it is tempting.”

“Well, if you change your mind, you know where to find me.”

“Walking strange girls home late at night?”

Arya laughs and when she looks at her, there’s a soft, genuine smile on the girl’s lips. “Yeah.”

The girl bites her lip. “This is me, by the way.” She indicates at the building behind them.

Right. “Well, uh, try to get some rest.”

She shrugs. “I’ll try.” Then, “Thank you. For walking me home, even though I was kind of a mess. Well, still am.”

“Just being friendly,” says Arya.

The girl leans forward and presses her lips to Arya’s cheek, pulling away quickly. “You’re sweet,” she says, and then she’s gone, white-blonde hair disappearing behind a swinging door.

Cheek still tingling with the imprint of a stranger’s lips, Arya realizes she never even got a name.

…

Arya does not dwell on the stranger. It was one night, just one night out of many, and so what if she sometimes wonders what color the girl’s eyes were? It’s just idle thinking, because Arya does not dwell.

Instead, she starts tagging along to Jon’s environmental activist group, the Night’s Watch. His friends are easy to hang out with, and it’s a cause she can get behind. She starts looking more into the possibility of community college classes, but nothing ever jumps out at her. Yoren can only give her so many shifts and it leaves her with too much time to herself.

She likes White Harbor, she really does, but there’s still something missing.

“Arya, have you seen my suit jacket?” calls Jon from his room.

“Why would I have seen your suit jacket?” she calls back from where she’s parked on the couch. There’s a bag of chips next to her, Nymeria at her feet, and a video game controller in her hand. She doesn’t much feel like moving to look for some jacket of Jon’s.

Jon leaves his room, hair looking more frazzled than usual. “Dammit, if I don’t have a nice suit to wear for the reunion, there’s no way I can go. Half of them already hate me for being Northern, they’d love to see me show up in jeans.”

“Why don’t you just not go?” Arya suggests. “Most of your Targaryen relatives are crazier than a bag of cats. There’s no way you want to spend a whole day listening to them talk about why Westeros should go back to a monarchy.”

“I know, I know. But I promised Egg I’d try to give our dad a chance.”

“Doesn’t your half-sister hate the guy? Doesn’t sound like a glowing endorsement.”

“Rhaenys doesn’t hate Rhaegar, she just –”

“Refuses to talk to the man?”

Jon shrugs. “Egg said she’s coming. Dany and Egg probably bullied her into accepting.”

“Dany?” Arya can never keep the Targaryens straight, especially with names like Egg.

“My aunt.” Jon disappears back into his room to continue searching for the elusive jacket. “Oh, that reminds me, she should be stopping by soon. Let her in when she gets here. We’re headed to the airport together.”

“Since when is there another Targaryen in White Harbor?” Arya asks around a mouthful of chips.

“Have I not told you about Dany? She goes to school around here. She’s one of the few relatives of my dad that I actually like.” Someone knocks at the door. “Can you get that? I think I found the jacket behind this shelf.”

Arya groans, but pauses the video game, reluctantly leaving her comfortable seat. She wipes the chip dust on her sweatpants before opening the door.

“Jon’s packing, but feel free to –” She trails off when her eyes finally meet Dany Targaryen’s. “Um. Hi.”

The girl from that night months ago stares back. “Hi.”

“Hah, found it!” Jon exclaims, and jacket aloft, he joins them in the doorway. “Dany, hey!” He gives her a quick hug. “Dany, this is my cousin Arya. Arya, this is Daenerys, my aunt.”

“We’ve met,” says Daenerys, an embarrassed smile on her lips. “Call me Dany.”

Jon’s eyebrows go up. “Wait, since when do you two know each other? Arya, I thought you didn’t know about Dany.”

“It’s a long story,” Arya says, even though it really isn’t. “I just didn’t realize she was your aunt Daenerys. Dany.”

Jon looks back and forth between the two of them, trying to see what he’s missed. Then, shrugging, he says, “I gotta finish packing. Dany, feel free to make yourself at home.” He disappears once more into his room.

“I’m sorry,” Dany blurts out. “I was a mess that night, and you were a complete stranger, and you shouldn’t have had to take care of me.”

Arya rather feels that their roles have been flipped. Her stained band t-shirt is a poor contrast to Dany’s tailored blouse. “It was no problem, really,” she says, and she means it. “I’m just glad you got home safe.” She fiddles with a loose strand of hair. “How’s the guy? Daario?”

Dany scowls. “With luck, still trying to find a way to pull off blond hair.” At Arya’s questioning look, she elaborates. “I put bleach in his shampoo. Probably not the most mature of revenges, but he is rather vain about his hair, and it looks quite awful on him now.”

“Love it,” says Arya, laughing. Awkwardly, she realizes they’re still standing by the doorway. “You can come in if you’d like. Jon’s probably going to be a bit. He started packing maybe fifteen minutes ago, and most of that was spent looking for his suit jacket.”

“If he makes us late for this flight, I am forcing him to listen to my father’s rant about the Northern independence movement,” Dany says, taking a seat at a stool by the kitchen counter. It’s the only one not being used as a rack for something, and even though it is Jon she is here to see, Arya can’t help but feel self-conscious about the state of the apartment.

“I’ve heard Aerys Targaryen can be quite the, ah, character,” Arya says carefully, perching on the edge of the counter.

“My father is a bigoted asshole.” Dany doesn’t sugarcoat her words. “But you don’t get to choose family. It’s going to make for an interesting couple of days at least.”

“I don’t envy you two, that’s for sure. The craziest that Stark family reunions ever get is when Uncle Brandon drinks a little too much and brings up the time he and my mom used to date.”

“Appreciate it. I’m almost certain someone will get into a fist fight with someone before the weekend’s out. If you hear about a fire being started on Dragonstone, just know it was probably arson.”

Arya’s startled laugh brings Nymeria investigating, interrupted from her mid-afternoon nap on the couch. She sniffs at Dany’s outstretched hand, before giving it a cautious lick.

“She seems sweet,” says Dany, a slight smile tugging at her lips. “What’s her name?”

“Nymeria.”

“Like the first princess of Dorne?” asks Dany, eyes lighting up.

“Exactly!” Arya straightens. “No one ever gets the reference, they always just think I like the name. Or worse, that it’s for some character from that one soap opera.”

“Nymeria of Ny Sar is one of my favorite historical figures! The strategies she used to unite Dorne are still studied in colleges today. None of her contemporaries could rival her combination of diplomacy and sheer tactical skill, and the way she – well, you don’t have to listen to me ramble on about history.” Dany goes slightly pink.

“No, I like it.” She grins. “Jon said you’re in college, are you studying history?”

Dany shakes her head. “Politics. I love reading about history, but I’d rather learn from it and improve upon it.”

“Cheers to that. Where are you studying?”

“Newcastle.” Dany is nonchalant about it, but Arya’s eyebrows go up. Newcastle College is one of the more prestigious universities in Westeros. “How about you? Are you in college?”

“I’m working at an auto shop, nothing fancy.” Arya shrugs.

“Well if walking messy drunk girls home were a job, you’d be a pro.” This close to her, Arya can see where Dany’s eyeliner starts and ends, can see the little flecks of silver in her violet eyes.

“Really, it was nothing.” Dany has a very earnest sort of face, the kind that looks at someone and can make them believe they’re the most important person in the world. Arya has to grip the counter tighter to keep herself from doing something stupid.

Dany licks her lips unconsciously and opens them to say something. “Do you want to maybe –”

“Dany, I am so, so sorry I took so long,” says Jon, bursting back out of his room, suitcase in hand. “The bus should be here in three minutes, if we hurry, we can make it.”

Arya swallows and looks away from Dany. “You two should run then. Don’t want to miss out on any of that legendary Targaryen insanity.”

Dany stands, brushing off imaginary dust from her skirt. “Arya’s right. Jon, we should go.”

Jon slings an arm around Arya for a quick half-hug. “I’ll be back late on Sunday, don’t wait up. Make sure Ghost gets his walks, and don’t let Sam spend too much time holed up in his room.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know all this,” she says, batting his arm away. “You crazy kids go have fun in Dragonstone. Don’t punch anyone who might have you in their will. Unless they say something especially horrible. In that case, you have my blessing.”

Jon rolls his eyes and gives her one last hug goodbye before heading for the door. Dany follows him, turning to wave at her.

“It was good seeing you again,” she says, before disappearing with Jon. The door closes behind them, the snick of the lock echoing through the apartment.

Arya groans and buries her face in her hands. Gods, are those butterflies in her stomach? This is beyond ridiculous. Who was she, Sansa?

She lifts her head to find Nymeria looking at her knowingly.

“No,” Arya tells the dog. Nymeria just stares. “She’s just some girl, that’s all. Actually, that’s wrong. She’s not just some girl, she’s Jon’s aunt. Definitely not cool. Besides, I have other things to thinks about.”

Nymeria sneezes. Unimpressed with her mistress, she turns and goes back to her comfortable napping spot on the couch. Arya, meanwhile, picks up her phone and bites her lip.

“I’m being stupid,” she mutters. And, before she can talk herself out of it, she opens the messenger app.

_To: Jon Snow. Sent 11:53._

_hey what’s ur aunt’s number? just in case i gotta get in touch while ur away_

_…_

“Shut up.” Arya sets her mug down with a thud.

“I am dead serious.”

“You called Tywin Lannister, _the Hand of Westeros,_ a heartless bastard to his face?” She whistles low through her teeth. “I’m surprised you’re still alive to tell the tale.”

Dany shrugs. “I doubt he even remembers me. Besides, my father is a major donor of his, Lannister couldn’t touch me even if he wanted to.” Her tone goes dry when she speaks of her family, the nonchalance of a woman who has grown up among Westerosi high society and is thoroughly unimpressed with it.

“Still.” Whatever impression Arya had of Dany when they first met that night, drunk and crying, clashes with the woman she is speaking to now, silver-white hair braided elegantly, manicured nails tapping against a cappuccino cup. “Daenerys Targaryen, you are quite the remarkable woman.”

“I hardly did anything,” she says modestly, though her pink-stained cheeks give her away. “A few mean words won’t do anything to Tywin Lannister. It’s real change we need to implement, mitigate the damage done by his awful policies.”

“So that’s your goal. Run for office, fix the system.” Behind Dany’s polished exterior is a brash idealism, a sincere passion that draws Arya in like a magnet.

“Someday maybe,” Dany says. “I have a degree to finish first.”

“That seems nice, having a set objective.”

“It gives me something to look forward to when my econ classes get particularly awful.” She takes a sip from her cup, leaving a red lip imprint on the ceramic finish. “What about you? What’s your plan in life? Somehow I doubt you’ll be working in the auto shop for much longer.”

“What makes you say that?” asks Arya, cocking her head. “You’re right, for the record, but I’ve never said much about my job.”

“You’re meant for bigger things than fixing cars,” Dany says. “Not that it isn’t an important job of course, but the universe has bigger plans in store for Arya Stark, I can feel it.”

Arya is not blushing. Arya Stark does not blush.

“I’m uh – yeah, you’re right. About me not being there forever I mean. I don’t quite know what the universe intends for me, but I’ll figure it out.” She shrugs.

“I’ve known what I wanted to do since I was fifteen, but most people don’t. It’s pretty normal.”

“When I was fifteen, I wanted to be a professional fencer,” says Arya and Dany’s eyebrows shoot up. “I was actually pretty good at it. Well, more than good. Maybe I could’ve gone pro, but believe it or not, there aren’t many careers out there in fencing.”

“I think I can believe it. Fencing, huh? So not only do you save fair maidens, but you can wield a sword. I think you’d make quite the dashing knight.” Dany flashes her a grin over the rim of her cup and Arya’s stomach does a flip.

“At your service, milady,” she says, imitating an old-fashioned southron accent.

Dany clutches her hands to her chest. “Oh, how you make me swoon, good ser. Now take me back to my chambers and ravish me before my husband returns from court!”

Arya chokes on her coffee. “You know,” she says, once she can breathe again, “if politics doesn’t work out, you have a decent future writing trashy romance novels.”

“Why not both?” she suggests. “I could make history as the first romance novelist senator.”

“I’d vote for you. And you might really tap into that middle-aged women demographic.”

“You might really be onto something here,” Dany says, tapping her finger against her chin. “I might have to hire you as my future campaign manager if you keep with the good ideas.”

“I think for the sake of your future campaign, I’m going to have to decline.”

Dany’s phone buzzes from the table. She picks it up and wrinkles her nose.

“I should go,” she sighs. “I have class in fifteen, and it’s going to take me that long to walk there.”

Arya checks her own phone and almost swears upon seeing the time. “Damn, I didn’t realize how late it was getting. Sorry for keeping you, I know you have a paper to write.”

Dany stands up and shrugs on her coat, Arya following suit. “Don’t be ridiculous, I had a great time. Besides, I owed you at the very least a coffee.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she says for maybe the hundredth time.

“No, but you still deserve a thank you,” Dany says and pulls Arya into a hug. Arya swallows hard and wraps her arms around Dany, trying not to notice how warm her body is, or how her hair smells like citrusy shampoo. “This was really fun. Maybe next time you can come to my place and meet my snakes.”

Dany is halfway out of the café when Arya snaps out of it. “Hold on, _snakes?”_

…

"Arya, Arya wake up."

Someone is shaking her shoulder. Arya groans and rolls over, blinking sleep away from her eyes.

In the dim glow from a distant street lamp, she can see the outline of Jon crouched by her bed. Outside her window, the night sky in pitch black, not even a hint of sunrise on the horizon.

"Jon, it's the middle of the bloody night, this better be important."

"I slept with Satin."

Arya could care less who Jon has slept with. "Good for you. Can I go back to sleep now?"

"It's not - I'm straight, Arya, and I think I still have feelings for Ygritte even though she said it’s definitely over this time and I shouldn’t feel guilty about having slept with Satin. Who’s a guy and I’ve never –"

Ah, so that's what this is. A sexuality crisis mixed with some leftover Ygritte drama. As laid back as Jon is, his romantic drama is always so messy. "Did you enjoy it?" she asks bluntly.

She doesn't need to be able to see Jon to know he has turned red as a tomato. "I uh, what does this-"

"Yes or no question."

Jon mutters something under his breath. Then, louder, he says, "Yeah, okay, yes, I enjoyed it."

"Great. Then congratulations, you're not straight. Can I go back to sleep now?" Arya pulls the covers over her head and curses when Jon yanks them back down.

“How did you know you liked girls?”

Arya does not want to have this conversation at this hour. “I saw a girl. She was pretty. I realized I liked girls romantically. The end. Now give me my covers back.”

“You’re dating my aunt, the least you could do is listen to me.”

She squeaks. “What? I’m not – what are you – that’s ridiculous, Dany and I are just friends.” Good friends. Friends who go out together a lot and hug for stupidly long amounts of time. Friends.

Jon is not convinced. “Okay, then you have a crush on my aunt. Either way it’s weird and in return the very least I deserve is some sympathy from you.”

She groans into the pillow. “Fine. Fine. But we are talking about this over a video game. Preferably something violent.” She pulls herself out of her bed with no small amount of reluctance.

“Thank you, thank you. You’re the best. I’ll make coffee.” Jon hops up and all but runs out of the room.

Arya catches a glimpse of the time from her clock while pulling on a hoodie. Three fucking twenty-four. Jon _so_ owes her.

 _Me and Dany. Dating._ She scoffs. _Ridiculous._

Then she thinks about it again. And remembers the little dimples Dany gets when she smiles. And the little crease between her eyebrows that shows up when she’s concentrating. And how her hands will start flailing about when she’s talking about something that she’s particularly passionate about.

_Fuck._

…

“You really weren’t kidding about the snakes,” says Arya, more than a little impressed.

Dany, a green-scaled snake wrapped around her hand and wrist, grins. “This one’s Rhaegal. The white one’s Viserion, and the big one here is Drogon.”

Arya runs a finger down Rhaegal’s back. The scales are warmer than she expects and feel a little like touching running water. The snake flicks a forked tongue out. “I don’t think I ever would have pegged you for the type to have snakes as pets.”

They’re sitting on the kitchen floor of Dany’s place, a cozy studio apartment in downtown White Harbor. Dany has Rhaegal around her arm, Drogon around her shoulders, and Viserion by her side. “My family’s got a thing about reptiles,” she explains. “Historically it’s been dragons, but they’ve been extinct for hundreds of years now. Snakes are the next best thing. Plus, they don’t set my curtains on fire.” She lowers Rhaegal and Viserion back into their tank but keeps Drogon draped around her shoulders.

“You surprise me more and more every day, Daenerys Targaryen,” says Arya and she means it. She and Dany have been hanging out for over a month now, and every time she thinks she knows Dany, she learns something new.

“You’re not too bad yourself, Arya Stark.” Dany grins. “But we’ve gotten off task. Bring that laptop over here, we’re filling out that job application.”

Arya pushes herself up from the floor, padding over to the desk to grab Dany’s laptop. “I don’t see why we have to do this. The job at the auto shop is fine.”

“You’re too smart to be wasted on a job that’s just ‘fine’.” Dany takes the laptop from Arya and flips it open. “Besides, I thought you liked fencing.”

She shrugs. “Yeah, but I’ve never taught before. Teaching’s different.”

“And I’m sure you’ll be great at it.” Dany handed her back the laptop. “Start working.”

“Ma’am yes ma’am.” The screen is open to the application for assistant coach at Tarth Defense, a local studio that teaches everything from fencing to mixed martial arts. Really, all Arya has to send in is a resume and a paragraph describing her interest in the position, but even that seems daunting.

 _My name is Arya Stark,_ she writes, then deletes it all. _I started fencing when I was nine years old._ No, still too bland. Writing has never been her forte, and the empty page seems to be mocking her.

 _The first time I held a sabre in my hand, I knew I had fallen in love._ Better.

The taps of the keys fill the room, a soothing background of white noise. Dany putters about the kitchen, putting dishes away and wiping down counters. At one point she passes Arya a mug of steaming coffee, which she accepts with silent gratitude.

Her mouse hovers over the red submit button for a good five seconds before Arya decides she’s being ridiculous and clicks. “Done,” she declares, pushing the laptop away.  

Dany raises her own mug in a toast. “See, not hard at all.”

“I know, I know. Still, there’s no guarantee I’ll hear back, and even if I do, I could end up being terrible at teaching.”

“So you find something else,” Dany tells her. “And then if the next thing doesn’t work out, you find another thing. And on and on, until something clicks.”

“You’re stupidly logical about this sort of thing you know,” Arya says, standing to put her empty mug in the dishwater. “I’m not sure I like it.”

“Tough luck.” Dany scratches the underside of Drogon’s chin. “It’s what you’re getting from me.” Arya elbows her, getting a sharp jab to the ribs in response. “Careful or I’ll sic Drogon on you.”

“Terrifying,” she says drily. Drogon eats mice in a single swallow, but the most he could do to her is give her a nasty bite.

Dany pouts. Arya drags her eyes away from her lips. “You’re going to hurt Drogon’s feelings.”

“He’ll live,” She yelps when Dany flicks dishwater at her. “Oh, it’s on,” Arya says and upends dish soap over Dany’s head.

All the work Dany had put into cleaning the kitchen is undone as the two devolve into a full-fledged food fight. Arya feels like a kid again, ducking from wet dish rags and throwing handfuls of cereal. Poor Drogon is hastily stuffed back in his tank after some chocolate syrup misses him by a hair. By the time a truce is called, there is milk dripping down Arya’s hair, uncooked rice down the front of her shirt, and what she thinks is ketchup smeared across her jeans.

“Oh gods, look what we’ve done to my kitchen,” Dany groans, and Arya laughs until her stomach hurts.

“I’m sorry,” she says, letting out one last chuckle. “This is just the most fun I’ve had in ages.”

Dany cracks a grin at that. “Yeah, me too. Beats writing papers, that’s for sure.” She pulls a piece of cereal out of her hair. “You’ve got something on your chin by the way.”

Arya scrubs the back of her hand across her chin. “Got it?”

“Not quite.” Dany takes her thumb and swipes it down her jawline. Her hand lingers.

They’re standing millimeters apart, close enough for Arya to feel the heat of Dany’s breath against her cheek. There is chocolate syrup streaked across her nose, but her eyes are bright and Arya is finding it difficult to breathe.

“You’ve got a little something on –” she starts but abandons that train of thought in favor of covering Dany’s lips with hers.

Dany inhales sharply and for one horrible moment, Arya fears she has misread the situation horribly. Then Dany slides her hand into her hair and kisses back and it’s rather hard to think straight after that. They’re both sweaty and covered in food, but Dany’s lips taste like coffee and salt and her body is hot pressed against hers.

She pulls away with reluctance. “Hi,” she murmurs.

“Hi yourself,” says Dany, twining their fingers together.

Arya ducks her head. “That was. Ah. That was nice.”

Dany brushes their noses together. “Better than nice I’d hope.”

“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” she says and Dany grins.

“Maybe so.”

Arya pulls her back in for a deeper kiss this time, plastering herself along Dany’s slender frame. When they disentangle at last, Dany is breathing heavily, lips shiny and bitten red.

“Jon is going to have a heart attack if he finds out.”

“Jon’s a big boy,” Arya says. “He’ll live.” She hesitates. “If we tell him. Are we telling him? Is this a thing?”

“This has been a thing for like a month now,” Dany says, but her fingers stop playing with the hem of Arya’s shirt. “I mean, if you want this to be a thing.”

“Being a thing would be nice,” she says and then laughs. “Gods we’re a mess. Well, both literally and figuratively.”

Dany wrinkles her nose. “I think there’s milk dripping down my shirt into my pants. I should really change and shower. I can give you a spare set of clothes, toss your clothes into the laundry machine, and while we wait for it to finish, we can talk about being a potential thing some more. And maybe make out some more.”

Arya grins. “Sounds like a plan.”

**Author's Note:**

> I've never written from Arya's POV and it's been a while since I wrote something set in a modern world so I hope it turned out okay. There's a ridiculous amount of background worldbuilding for modern Westeros that didn't make it into this. I don't know how to do things by half measures clearly....
> 
> The edit for this fic can be found on my tumblr [here](https://thundersnowstorm.tumblr.com/post/181410013261/neon-lights-and-shining-knights-why-do-you-wanna).


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